


Parallels

by hummingrightalong, itslifethatscaresmetodeath



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, cinnamon roll is actual cinnamon roll but will still murder you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-10-26 10:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17744051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingrightalong/pseuds/hummingrightalong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslifethatscaresmetodeath/pseuds/itslifethatscaresmetodeath
Summary: Parallels between Aaron and Paul over the years





	1. Oh, You And All Your Vibrant Youth

**Author's Note:**

> read the tags there are trigger warnings there

Aaron:

 

Distantly, he remembers a couple of therapy sessions as a younger man. Maybe (definitely in his opinion) he was way too young to be there. He wasn’t even quite sure about it before she was.

There was certainly nothing to complain about. Not when you considered the life he’d been born into. He wasn’t ridiculous, filthy, stupid, wealthy, but his family was comfortable. He could do whatever he wanted with his life someday. His options were plentiful, no matter what his GPA looked like.

Somehow he always felt like that last bit was a half truth. He was smart, had even skipped a couple of grades and took advanced classes in school.

The therapy sessions didn’t ever make him feel better, which was the point of it all as far as he understood. He was younger then, didn’t quite get it. He hadn’t figured out what the other adults in his life had yet.

By the time he did, his mother had stopped driving him to random tiny private offices where a man connected to the church with a degree in child psychology made tiny nonsensical noises, asked questions that seemed unrelated (and kind of inappropriate if his mom’s talk about stranger danger told him anything), and took more notes than either of them talked.

The problem became crystal clear the day his mother sat him down, fifteen years old, and threw his summer plans into a tailspin. That was fucking accurate, he thought, as he dad (as usual) said nothing but slid a few pamphlets across the kitchen table at him.

Aaron had never wished not to be an only child more than at that moment. He had nowhere to look. Nowhere but to his father, who always looked away when his mother was speaking in her seemingly sweet, but decisive (and later on he’d realize) judgemental way.

“There’s something wrong with you.” Just like fucking that. Something wrong? What? But of course Aaron knew exactly what those words meant. He hadn’t ‘come out’ that year, so much as been himself. It was a natural progression, a natural thing. He hadn’t so much kept it from them, because despite knowing his family's’ strong beliefs, he felt like there was nothing he could do to make them reject him. But that was exactly what was happening. “We love you sweetheart, we want you to be happy and you can’t be happy the way you are.”

“The way I am?” One final question. Even knowing the answer he wants to hear it. Even looking at the brochure (yeah…) for the place, with the smiling faces and the promises that couldn’t be right because they made it so perfectly clear that the way he was born was wrong. He hadn’t even done anything, not really, other than everything the glossy pages talked about. Then again, not really. He was fairly inexperienced; there’d been a guy, a friend, who he’d kissed a few times at a school thing. He must’ve made the mistake of telling his mother about it. It felt so good and right and he was giddy with it those few times.

“It’s unnatural. There’s no way to live a happy, successful life. But we’re here for you,” his mother reaches for his father’s hand. There’s a pause, a tension, and Aaron wonders if there’s a tentative ally here or if dad just doesn’t really care either way. He always liked to let her make the calls so maybe he doesn’t want to take too much of an active role in this.

“So you’re sending me away?”

“To help you.” Her other hand reaches across the table to him. “Now, get packed and we’ll all go down as a family. Maybe you want to talk to our pastor first? He can give you a better idea about all of this, help you feel more comfortable. There’s no judgement here. Only love.”

“Bullshit.” He pushes out of his chair, angry, perhaps not meaning to knock it over with a crash but he’s been growing quickly. He’s big, strong, and yet that hasn’t stopped her from doing every little thing to make her little man a *man*. The foods that gagged him just thinking about, every after school sport she encouraged him to join, all the questions and the odd looks.

The room is spinning, his thoughts are racing, and he doesn’t even know why but he’s packing. He supposes there’s no choice really; she’ll do it for him and he’s surprised she hadn’t already while he was at school today. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d come home to notice slight differences around his room. Like it had been gently ‘tossed’. He always passed it off as a slightly overreaching but good mother that just wanted to make sure he wasn’t on drugs like everyone his age. Something like that.

When he’s done packing, rolling his eyes in near amusement about all the pre-matched outfits hung up in his closest that he certainly didn’t choose on his own (though he’s never seen the problem in that, thinking mom is only doing her job), he’s about to go downstairs and tell her he’ll give it a try.

Strangely heading in the opposite direction, as if he’s on autopilot, he finds himself in his parents upstairs bathroom. He hasn’t quite had the need to start shaving himself, and his dad’s shaving equipment consists of mostly electric appliances. He sees a fresh package of lady’s razors, feels a little sick about tearing the package and bringing a single pink thing back to his room.

Cracking the plastic, he removes one of the blades, holds it between his fingers for a long time. His heart is racing, and he doesn’t quite understand why but drawing the blade over the back of his arm gives him this strange rush- like after everything the injury is giving him one huge desperately needed inhale of oxygen. He does it again. Another time. Not deep, he’s not stupid, doesn’t mean to kill himself by any means, not even in this panicked state he also feels the fear of having to go to an emergency room for whatever it is he’s doing. There’s blood running down his arm, the blade and the fingertips holding it stained.

A different panic sets in. Maybe he did go too far? But he feels calm, able to breathe, and after cleaning off the blood, wiping it away with a towel, and disinfecting his room his first thought is any other young man’s- he wants his mother.

He cautiously calls her upstairs, noting her smile when she sees the suitcases on the bed, then the heartbreaking sympathy when she sees the first aid kit at his desk. Sees him sitting there looking calmly defeated.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok baby. It doesn’t look that bad. And this just shows us both how much you need this counseling, alright? This lifestyle, it has you all mixed up. You shouldn’t be ashamed, or hate yourself. You’re just sick. Let me help.”

***

It doesn't take more than a couple of weeks at the first place for a counselor to put his hand down Aaron's pants.

Unimpressed, he calmly tells the guy; "get your hand off my dick dude".

When he doesn't, Aaron knocks him out with one clean swing. He doesn't stop hitting until half the counselors running the place overhear the commotion and come to the perv's aid. After that Aaron's parents are called to take him home, like it's a punishment to leave.

His mother doesn't seem all that concerned when her son gives his side of the story in the car on the way. She just tells him he asked for it, being a queer, after all. He decided then and there to be done with her. 

She's already got another camp lined up. As soon as he gets there he realizes these fuckers must have a phone tree because no one tries it again. The counselors tend to give him a wide berth. 

***************************************

Paul:

There was never a feeling of solid ground, but he wasn’t one to complain.

Apparently he was one to make all the things about himself that were easy to attack extremely fucking obvious. Even that he kind of understood. Around here, you found a weakness in someone and you exploited it. Prison rules.

School was a little different but not much. He wasn’t about to join the Pride Association or whatever the kids that put it together were calling it this year. He never felt like he belonged in either group. People always acted surprised when they found out he was gay as a young man.

And yet, back at the home, they punished him for it.

At first it was just getting his ass kicked. Again, not one to complain, but outside looking in someone might say that life had been beating the shit out of him the moment he was born.

He’d never been anywhere for long, just a series of brief stints in foster homes - some better than others, more often bad than good. He never seemed to work out anywhere for long.

The first time he’d ever really made friends at the home they’d taken him out and away, and somehow he’d found himself in a dirty room, laughing and trying to fit in. Someone kisses him, and he feels warm and welcome.

It just doesn’t take long for it to go too far, and he’s not ready but it’s happening, while everyone acts like this is exactly how the day was going to turn out. He guessed it was.

And he thought he’d been making friends.

 

****

The night he was attacked worse than he’d ever been, he was staying a foster place that actually seemed promising. There were a few older kids there and they were sort of nice to him.

He’s 14 the first time he does drugs. Some older boys invite him to a semi-private place; a few of them already smoking pot and reaching into a baggie of pills. Instead of swallowing the pill himself one of the boys sidles up to Paul and pushes it past his lips, he can’t even remember if he tells him what it is. The boy hands him an open beer. “Come on, have fun with us.” He remembers shrugging. Why the hell not?

Before long, he feels sick, has to lie down, then he’s barely able to move and everything was a blur...but he’s somehow disturbingly aware of that boy’s hand on his belt buckle, his jeans being pulled down and then he was on his stomach. After that there was just pain. A lot of pain. He must have cried out because then there was a hand covering his mouth, a voice whispering "it's ok, shhh. It'll get better..." then "shut the fuck up ok? You're gonna get us in trouble"

Then it’s over. The boy even helps him dress. It was worse than it had to be. At least that's what the other boy tells him. "It didn't have to be that difficult, you know...I didn't want to hurt you. You should have just relaxed." He lights a joint, takes a puff and passes it to Paul. "You know you wanted it. You brought it on yourself...tease," there's no malice, the other boy is playing cool like it's a big joke.

He believes it. Believes it was his own fault. He brought it upon himself. And he keeps quiet about it. It happens a few more times, he tries to 'relax' and it does get a little easier but he's glad when he's moved to another home. It's not as nice as the last one. But he decides it's better than the alternative any day.

Paul had been bounced around the system his whole short life. This place wasn't so bad...well except this part. But the people here didn't hit him or treat him like a burden or a prisoner. They fed him...Who knew that something could happen that makes you grateful to go hungry and bruised?

After what seemed like ages he pulled himself up and out of bed. Showered, dressed. It took him days again to mention it to the man who was responsible for all of them. The boths responsible don’t speak to him later. For that matter, they don’t speak to him again. Guess he wasn’t ‘fun’ enough for them.

Clearly, Paul’s foster parent didn’t *not* believe him. In fact, the words that tumbled out of the old guy’s mouth made him feel sort of objectified. Was the fucker hitting on him?

A comment boiling down to him being ‘open for business’ solidified that horrifying theory. This place wasn’t safe. And apparently when he strongly rejected the man’s advances that made him ‘troublesome’, ‘disruptive’, ‘not a good fit’.

Paul found himself packed and in a random social worker’s care on his way back to the boy’s home before he knew it.

Once there, he locked himself away in one of the storage closets. A dim flickering light was the only thing that led him to the compartment in his backpack carrying a plastic container with a razor in it. He’d swiped it intending to use it for self defense but somehow it felt like it counted as exactly that as he tenderly drew the blade across his wrist. This wasn’t a suicide attempt exactly; he knew well enough from everything you learn in a place like this that it’s not how it’s done. But he was dancing with the idea when he pressed in a little deeper as he went higher up his arm.

It didn’t make him feel better exactly. But it was the first thing ever done here, that he’d ever done, that he felt like he had complete control over.


	2. Hey, Don't Write Yourself Off Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some low moments and a little hope for Aaron and Paul

Aaron:

The only thing he took away from those conversion camps were some pretty epic blow job skills. Leave a bunch of queer kids in a bunk room together all night, see how far that gets you.

He went to college early, and it’s a blur thanks to a fake ID. He chose Penn State specifically as one of the most LGBTQ friendly schools in the country. It’s program was good enough for the career he’d planned to settle into someday. The queer scene was what he was really interested in at the time. And he dove into it head first.

Aaron retains the important parts. But it’s easy to focus on your passions. Math, law, all the highest marks with big hopes for the future. Didn’t matter that he came in hungover, with maybe an hour’s sleep, or still a bit fuzzy on the latest party- the memory of the guests and the pills he’d popped somehow helping him power through.

The first month into school, he finds and dives into the scene. He goes to his first white party, and comes home with a huge rainbow tattoo, the words PRIDE written across his inner thigh. His underwear would cover it, just barely, only the important people would see it. Except when he came back wearing a European-style swimsuit after studying abroad (heh...not at all). He thought the shock of that little truth would kill his mom when he visited home for a few days, lazing in their pool- the beloved body modification almost did.

After he graduates, gets a loan from a bank, and becomes a homeowner. And what better place to settle down than same neighborhood as his family.

The gym becomes a second home, an obsession with looking perfect in next to nothing at parties and in the backrooms of clubs.

***

Aaron would be the first to tell you he has had a predilection for redheads. Hell, you could say he’d crossed off every last one of them on the list in his home state, and back in the city where he’d gone to college.

A pretty boy is waking up far later than his liking. At the time, if he’d known what a dick he was being he might’ve felt bad. But even bringing men back to his home, on the street he grew up on, right down the road from his own parents and nosy neighbors, he’s not tolerating it when a one-night stand tries to turn it all into something more.

“I dunno your name and that sucks but...you gotta leave.”

“It’s-”

“No you misunderstood me. I don’t really want to know and yeah that sucks...but the truth sucks. What can I say? I like honesty.”

“Yeah that does suck.” The stranger starts getting dressed.

“And you still have to leave,” the demand is made before Aaron has put on a stitch of clothing, holding open the front door- to let the other man out and to remind his conservative neighbors, in case that they’ve forgotten overnight, how here and queer he is.

His neighbor passes by, she’s 83. Never seen her move that fast.

“Good morning Mrs. Morris!” He calls as he picks up his soaking wet newspaper from the front steps. It landed in a puddle again. He’s going to kill that fucking kid.

And the asshole that needs to leave. He gestures again with the limp soaking wet newsprint.We need to move this along.

“I need to pack. Leaving for Africa in 2 days so...yeah, thanks. Doubt there will be much opportunity when I get there.”

The pretty ginger gives him a dirty look as he passes, barely dressed. Aaron smiles brightly, waves. Shrugs when the middle finger is all he gets in response. Oh well. His phone rings. It's his mother...fucking Mrs Morris. Hopefully the old bat keels I've while he's saving the world in Africa…

Jesus he needs this. He's literally the shittiest person he knows. Surely this will 'straighten' it the fuck out. He hits ignore. Yeah. He's going to hell. Fuck it. At least he'll have friends and be warm...And he'll get laid constantly if his mother is any kind of right about queers.

Hell is sounding pretty awesome actually. That's exactly what he texts to her in response and turns off the phone. He's going to Africa. Fuck off mom. With any luck, he'll get stoned to death. That should finally get her off his back.

***

E-mailing an Eric Raleigh for months, the man who’d arranged this whole thing, doesn’t imply anything more than money, and lots of it, to Aaron. He distantly likes him from online correspondence alone; Eric is definitely down to earth and full of personality.

Until Aaron is off the plane, waiting to greet the guy along with the other volunteers, there were two important details he wished he’d somehow picked up on before coming.

Not that it would have been appropriate, or he could even think of a reason to ask for a picture of the guy months ago, but he’s a little pissed to find out that the man shaking his hand firmly and holding him frozen still with just a look, is a fucking adorable redhead.

***

Paul:

On an upswing, Paul gets an equality tattoo on the inside of his wrist to cover some old self-harm scars with positivity. A splash of rainbow watercolor and a “=”. Simple, ambiguous. Easily covered up with a sweatband or a sleeve.

He’d given himself some very good advice as a teen, realizing if he was going to be a target he was going to be sure he was hard to hit.

Starting out simply, he somehow finds himself obsessed with martial arts and is well versed in several disciplines in record time- a professional would be impressed. He gets a job at gym, teaching yoga, martial arts- he even privately trains a few MMA fighters.

The health scene wasn’t always a positive place for him, even though it starts out with becoming a vegetarian, then a vegan, treating his body like a temple. Eventually, he’d jokingly call his diet something like ‘not eating anything that cast a shadow’. The kind of men who were paying attention to him at that point appreciated it. He kicks himself back in shape when he meets a guy who only likes having him around when he’s wearing wispy frilly nighties and making sure not to talk (that’d ruin the effect?).

At the best of times, he’s sober and healthier than anyone in his classes- then there’s some days where he can barely drag his ass through the day without ducking into the bathroom to snort a line.

The ups and downs seem to coincide with the men he sees. Eventually, he swears dating off altogether, but the habit is already there.

***

His mother told him to get out. Good chance this is not what she meant, but being from the Upper East Side, and not driving once in his life, he’s soon lost on the subway train.

She hadn’t met to be cruel, and he knows that, but sometime after the first ride he’s already ignored a text or two. She’s trying to keep distance like the therapist suggested. Give him the space to get back out there. This was the step they’d been advised to take - “immersion therapy”. Right...that bitch was so fired.

Elliot hadn’t really left the house since college. It wasn’t intentional. One Spring break, he’d just stopped going back to campus. Knowing his condition just gets worse the more you feed it isn’t encouraging, but it’s something he’d reminded her before when she tried to gently push him.

Tonight Elliot had just packed a backpack and walked to the subway. He could have asked for someone to drive him out, he could have talked his way out of it. He could have turned around.

Lucky he didn’t. For him just as much as the guy he sees across from him when he decided to try a different train, having found himself in what he knew was most definitely the wrong neighborhood.

“Do you know how to get to-” Shit, the attractive man slumped over in a corner seat barely looks conscious, let alone healthy.

“Those fuckers left me, didn’t they?”

“What?”

“My friends. Oh man, I’m going to die. They wouldn’t leave me,” he pauses to take in his surroundings. “If I was going to make it home alive.”

Wow. That’s...extreme. And depressing. Elliot wants to say something like ‘some friends’, ‘assholes’, anything to comfort the guy. But he doesn’t necessarily seem all that bummed about the implication of certain death.

The man is on the small side. Not well dressed, well neither is he really, but the athletic wear the other guy has on isn’t the kind you just buy to walk on a treadmill twice a week so he doesn’t look like he lives and sleeps on subways normally either. Maybe this isn’t the first time but he looks like he comes from somewhere.

All attempts at introducing himself, or asking if there was someone to call, fails. There’s few people on the train but still Elliot can already feel the anxiety kicking in. He sees his hands shaking and knows how that’s going to look but they can call his fucking therapist if they don’t trust him in the ER.

That’s where they wind up. As soon as the train arrives at it’s next predestined spot he helps the man out and calls a cab to take them to the hospital. The cabbie leers knowingly at them both and Elliot rolls his eyes. His purple hair and lazy grunge wear throws people off where he comes from but no one has bothered a second- if even a first- look in the direction of the sporty geared strung out guy and the alt looking fellow holding him tightly around the waist as he walks him in.

He just tells them he’s the other man’s boyfriend, digging into his pocket for a wallet so he has his name for accuracy. Paul.

***

“Hey…” Groggily, the stranger wakes up. After a few tests (as if it weren’t obvious) staff had figured out what was in his system and counteracted a massive overdose. Saved his life. “You must be the guy that saved my life. And my boyfriend?”

They both laugh, though Elliot is still shaking and Paul is already sweating out the drugs and his body’s intolerance of not having the doses it’s used to. This is bad. But this is New York in the ER. They’re going to release him soon. “I had to say something. I panicked.”

“Are you ok?” Funny that question should come from a hospital bed.

“Not really. I don’t do well with people. I’m...well, here…” you can only explain so many times (even if you hardly go out) what your fucking problem is. One of his shrinks had made up the card, his mother’s cell and the emergency line for his doctor on the back.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. They’re releasing you today. Do you need someone to take you home?” It’s late, already been a couple of days, and both their hands are slightly shaky when Paul reaches out and squeezes weakly.

“Yeah. Please?” A smile from his fake boyfriend, a few arrangements, and they’re on their way to Paul’s place.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna picture Elliot the way we do, we kind of face claimed him as Evan Peters (think purple hair from AHS)


	3. Baby, Why Don't You Just Meet Me In The Middle?

Aaron:

 

Deciding the best way to get his shit together was going to Africa to become part of the NGO wasn’t, in hindsight, a genius idea. He’s not a genius, really, not compared to his new friend.

 

Still slightly pissed about that; Eric not being a fat, middle aged do gooder was nobody’s fault but not expecting that he could be his literal weakness in more ways than just physical appearance seems to be more than negligently Aaron’s oversight.

 

Then again in the back of his mind there’s this sick little bastard that he sometimes turns into out of general spite towards the world, especially his parents, reminding him that in this part of the world being queer - especially being caught at it - is punishable by death by stoning.

 

So he makes his moves. Eric seems interested enough and eventually they’re doing something like sneaking off to ‘date’. A concept so far Aaron hasn’t been interested in, he’d rather just fuck and run most of the time but sexy soulless ginger has a degree in law (read: seeing through people and using their words and thoughts to his advantage) and he’s not afraid to abuse his education for personal reasons.

 

Eric Raleigh is...a lot. He doesn't have a lot of personality, he *is* a personality

 

***

 

He makes jokes about his teen years when times are slow and it can be called coming up ‘organically’ in conversation. Of course there’s a lot that comes up naturally that must’ve given Eric enough hints to, well, ‘nail it down’.

 

They’re alone after a slow day, it’d been quiet and somehow they’d acquired a few drinks around a campfire. Everyone was talking loudly, the big shot organizer the quietest he’d ever been as he listened to everyone.

 

A few glances snuck, a few accidental/incidental touches. Before long he’s led to Eric’s tent. It’s spacious, organized (surprise surprise) and comfortable.

 

They’re fooling around a while when Aaron finds himself on his back. They’re pressed tightly together with Eric between his legs when Aaron stiffens, stops responding to deepening kisses and the intuition the bastard seems to have about all the spots that drive him wild. “I usually top-”

 

“Ah, yeah me too. And I thought I was catching a bit of a toxic masculinity vibe from you.” Eric gets a raised eyebrow in response, mouth agape. Eric shuts it for him, commenting that he will be putting it to much better use than feigned shock at an imagined slight - all in due time. First, apparently, he needed to let him know in grand detail, everything that was wrong with him, ‘alphabetically, if you like’, and all the while doing...well, just wonderful fucking things with his lovely hands that Aaron had never had the balls to experience before.

 

“Internalized homophobia,” Eric tells him, his fingers finding a place inside him that makes protest or cohesive thought a pipe dream. Then, “Let me guess-” and in a few sentences the other man rattles off a summation of his dating history, his home life, and what he’d taken from all he’d been taught. Not only had he gotten it wrong but in a way he was doing *exactly* what those homophobes expected him to do.

 

He doesn’t want to admit it, but the guy has a point. Face. Palm. Making it a ‘lifestyle choice’ or the closest thing to it; ruining his own life, fulfilling his mother’s prophecy about ‘never being happy’ without placing the blame on her like she deserved. Just another attempt at self destruction. That's why he has no problem being queer where it's illegal and talking shit to war lords.

 

Then Eric psychic cunt soulless psychic cunt fucking got to him.

 

"Tell ya what, give me tonight and if you're not begging for a repeat performance by morning, I'll let you top. Baby just get comfy, put this pillow under your hips for me and try to keep it down. It's unlikely that anyone is gonna say anything but still..." He does what he's told. Doesn't know why. These are his lines...his delivery isn't quite as smooth but still.   


And sure enough he spends the rest of the their lives begging for it, anything he can get, just like Eric told him he would I've been winning all my life.

 

"Ok you win"

 

"Not going to stop now. Not for some bitchy little scene boy trying to clean up his record. I'm going to fuck you til I fix you.”

 

***

 

When they return from the charitable mission in Africa both men have big plans.

 

Aaron finally knows what he wants to do with his life, with his degree. He starts making plans and connections, is ready to run a campaign. There’s the little matter of introducing Eric to his family first.

 

There’s a lot to unpack with that man. Eric Raleigh is...a lot. He doesn't have a lot of personality, he *is* a personality.

 

It starts out with the tiniest gesture, the casserole he brought to dinner when Aaron showed up at their door with a big smile, “There’s someone you *have* to meet. This is Eric, my boyfriend.”

 

By the first time Aaron’s mother refers to his boyfriend as his ‘friend’ during dinner her fate is sealed. He spends the rest of the night watching her be verbally hunted and destroyed.

 

She keeps her head up, keeps her resolve, and it only spurs the new love of his life on. He can’t wait to take her son away from her, because this bitch is everything wrong with him- Eric tells him time and time again- but clearly he enjoys playing her game better than she possibly could.

 

None of this is a skill learned from his fancy education. No, this was Eric. Again, a lot to unpack but worth every second. Aaron spends every family dinner with his smile hid behind his hand or a wine glass. The woman has no chance. This is the most polite game of warfare. It goes on far longer than any other man would have put up with if Aaron had allowed them that close. He allows himself a pat on the back for falling into the trap himself. It’s right where he always belonged.

 

***

 

The campaign for state auditor should have been hopeless. A lot of good can be done, and evil undone, from the position. Thanks to all the positive encouragement from his then fiancee, he runs as an out gay man in a republican district. There’s a rainbow on his campaign posters.

 

During a public function Eric spends the entire night by his side, in drag, and it’s a major hit. His parents can’t say a fucking word. Especially when he wins by a landslide.

 

***

 

“Are you sending them an invitation?”

 

“Of course I am.”

 

“What if they don’t show?” Eric shrugs at the question. He really doesn’t have time or the give a damn for the bigots that won’t give in but there’s no way he’ll give them even the smallest victory by not sending an invitation to their commitment ceremony.

 

Or a few years later when the first state to legalize it is an affordable (for the Raleigh family) expense; sending everyone on the guest list a ticket so there’s no excuses not to show. Both times the affairs are huge and public. They’re the perfect couple.

 

Aaron loses his resolve once or twice again- progress takes time.

 

Eric sets his lover up with a therapist. He works through some of his own issues, at least addressing everything that’s holding him back so he can go forward. Even if there will always be little triggers left by his parents from years of psychological manipulation it’s a huge relief and victory the day his doctor asks him to bring her in so they can talk together. The licensed professional spends the entire time gently telling the woman that almost everything she had done, no matter the intention, had been damaging and just plain wrong for raising a child- the way she treated Aaron and the people important to him was no way to treat anybody.

 

Maybe it was regret for getting in her son’s way, maybe it was *being* wrong, maybe it was just because nobody in the room really felt sympathetic to her tears during the session. Of course she didn’t change but her son had seen her insistence in the face of the therapist’s opinion, had heard from Aaron’s own mouth how long his life had been on hold because of her actions.

 

She shows up for the wedding, appearances after all, but after that she leaves the couple mostly alone. Even just a few houses away Aaron hardly has to put up with her. He continues to succeed professionally. Personally he’s never been happier with Eric.

 

******

 

Paul:

  


***

 

The same night Elliot realizes there’s not too many places to ‘crash’ (as if he’d ever done that before or would) other than the opposite side of Paul’s bed.

 

“I can stay on the couch.”

 

“Not sure I have something that counts as a couch.” Gesturing vaguely at the living room, which isn’t as derelict as Paul’s lowered eyes and soft words seem to imply. Normally, in fact, he’s damn proud of how hard he’s worked to get to this point. Really it boiled down to not having the need for a lot of furniture. Considering his usual active lifestyle, it was better as well. “You could stay in the bed with me tonight. I don’t mind.”

 

“Ok.” Once they’re settled there’s a tension to the situation that takes Elliot a moment to pick up on. Agoraphobia has kept him from meeting anyone since fooling around in college.

 

“Wild guess here...but, are you into boys?” Paul kisses him almost chastely, waiting and smiling a little with impossibly bright sweet blue-green eyes. “Do you maybe want to take advantage of the opportunity before the detox sets in?”

 

“Uhh, it’s been a while…”

 

“Me too. I don’t date a lot.”

 

Distance closing, the heat between them rises and they hardly break a kiss as they strip out of what’s necessary. Elliot is gentle, kind, and cautious.

 

Hardly knowing each other becomes hardly being able to get away from each other, and they spend a week in bed. It’s not all fun and games, Paul starts getting sick and Elliot somehow easily takes over; he brings him what he needs like he knows the place and the man far better than he should, he doesn’t mind sitting up with him or watching him sleep it off for hours. He even calls the gym where he works, asking Paul who he should speak to. The friend is understanding, even seems kind of hopeful that a nice sounding dude is back there keeping on eye on him.

 

After a week he realizes his phone’s battery has been dead. Finally deciding to charge it, it’s Paul who notices all the missed calls from ‘MOM’, asking if he should answer. His white knight shrugs.

 

A quick conversation and a promise she’ll be there soon with what her son is requesting is all it takes. “How long is it going to be?”

 

“Oh...she’s gonna speed. Probably bring the whole family. Sorry.” Strangely he’d just wanted his camera and some clean underwear.

 

***

 

When Elaine arrives, there’s a middle aged man by her side with a small box of Elliot’s belongings. A preteen standing oddly behind them resembles his brother almost too closely. When Paul stumbles out of bed, wearing slightly more than Elliot- a few days old shirt to go along with the underwear, he tries his damndest not to sway while watching the exchange. They’re cute. Sweet. Their son relentlessly screws with his mother but even that seems loving.

 

“I’ve been calling! I tried to track you! I thought the worst.”

 

“Figured when Paul,” he gestures to the other man, “answered my phone and you begged him not to be getting ready to tell him you’d just found it. Oh, I disabled my GPS ages ago. "I don't leave the house...and it kinda serves you" he says then hugs his mom in the doorway. whispers "thank you...but I got this I think. I mean I'm obviously doing ok. he seems to like it."  
  
"Elliot!"   
  
"What?" he notices his baby brother hanging out behind their dad. He hadn't been nearly as worried, thought their mom was overreacting a bit. "Oh shit. Hey bud." he says. "Didn't mean for you to hear that part..." his brother just gives him a thumbs up, then points to their mom and gestures that she's nuts. They share a laugh and Elaine rolls her eyes.   
  
"They're making fun of me, aren't they?" her husband smiles sympathetically.   
  
"Afraid so."   
  
"It's not at all funny..." she tries to be stern but she just seems genuinely happy to see him in someone else's house. It's been a couple years now.   
  
she hadn't expected the therapist's suggestion that she force him to face his fear to have a positive outcome. She thought he'd just lock himself in his room and hate her for a while. Truthfully, she was actually a little worried when he got dressed, grabbed his backpack, and then he was gone.   
  
And stayed gone. For a week. Now here he was, with a young man whose hands were shaking from more than being cold. It was June, her son had left in shorts and a t-shirt. the sweat on his brow, causing his hair to stick to his forehead told her more was going on here.   
  
To her surprise, Elliot notices her staring and pushes them into the hallway, closing the door most of the way, hand still on the knob. "I found him in a bad way and took him to the hospital. He needed help home and still needs help. You wanted me to get out. Don't get weird and judgey now. You raised me better than that. He's a good person, just going through withdrawal. I'm staying. I made a list, please bring some of my things..."   
  
Elaine looks around, the neighborhood was pretty nice, the building clean and well-kept. her son seemed adamant and she could feel pride swelling in her chest. "Ok," she says, nodding. Ok. "But your phone stays on?"   
  
"As long as you stop acting like a crazy person...crazier than me, anyway." She nods in agreement, hugs him tight and takes the list. they're off and Elliot opens the door again.   


***

  
Paul's trying to make coffee, his hands are shaking so bad, it's nearly impossible and he's so focused, he doesn't notice Elliot until he's standing right there, taking the mug from him. he jumps, looks up, genuinely surprised to see him.   
  
"I'm not leaving. not even after you're better."   
  
Paul starts to cry, his body gives out and Elliot catches him. he doesn't know whether to be grateful or humiliated. Grateful. Hopeful. For once.

 

***

 

One night Elliot asks, in his calm and somewhat blunt demeanor, if there’s anything Paul wants to tell him. Considering the current position they’re very literally in Paul looks down from where he’s straddling his half-naked boyfriend, arms draped around his neck, and says “no.”

 

There’s a hopeful edge to it. Elliot senses shame in his tone, as well as caution that he’s somehow being pushed away. He hasn’t minded that Paul is on the clingy side, he’d rather stay here with just him forever and they had done just that for as long as the recovering addict had needed. “Not judging. Just asking.”

 

“I’ve just discovered how amazing sober sex is.” Ducking his head, kissing his neck, feels more like an excuse than a desire right now. It’s not always like that. Lately, though, aside from the fever dreams when he was sweating out the drugs, there’s been some red flags. Paul will be going back to work full time very soon. The moment he mentioned it they’d spent the rest of the day fucking. Elliot, for one, was exhausted after a few hours when he noticed the eager desperation in Paul’s eyes. He did genuinely seem interested. Of course he always seemed genuinely interested.

 

“Clearly I’m no expert in disorders...not the kind of expert that could give advice. I was just thinking...I’ve been talking to a new therapist…”

 

“And it’s been doing wonders, way better than before. You told me.” Paul goes right back to leaving a warm trail of kisses down his neck and shoulders.

 

“Knowing my tendency to avoid the issue I probably said something like ‘I like this one better but they’re never going to fix me’. Point is, I could be wrong and it’s worth a try if it makes me feel the least bit better. For me, if you need to talk to somebody, can you try?”  


***

 

Paul does what his boyfriend had asked, more opposed to the idea than probably Elliot ever has been but after a few sessions the therapist reveals a few facts that sound macabre if they’re described as interesting but that’s pretty much the only word he can think of.

 

She’s someone other than Elliot’s...it’s not that he doesn’t trust *him* so much as *them* and there were counselor situations in his childhood that gives him reason enough for that not to be paranoid.

 

It takes a while but he’s got homework now and again, and it’s recognizing when sex is really attraction and arousal and when it’s a replacement for something else.

 

He tells Elliot about what he’s been working on for the first time over dinner, *dinner out*, so they’re both making a big leap that night when he explains that abused children can and often do have higher sex drives while the experiences are more often attached to feeling genuinely shitty about it soon after. Elliot says he can explain in detail whenever he’s ready but he gets it. They also get through an entire evening in public which is a huge win for the latter.

 

***

 

He wasn’t back to work long before news of the gym being up for sale hit the employees. It’s talk for a long time, Paul mentioning it offhandedly at home.

 

It’s not even like he’ll lose his position, so it doesn’t shake the steady foundation he’s built around the job.

 

A holiday dinner with Elliot’s family passes between the seemingly minor thing happening in his professional life. The two meet when Elliot’s step father brings up ‘paperwork’ (not an uncommon topic- handled his stepson’s finances for him and everyone in that family could kind of throw money around but it seemed to give the guy a genuine joy to pore over a checkbook or two). Elliot hushes the man, saying he wanted to wait to talk until later; but everything is finished on the previous owner’s side, Paul can see the top leaf of the short stack of paperwork with a bunch of signatures at one side on the bottom.

 

“It was supposed to be a surprise. You’ve worked your ass off for that place and it should fricken be yours. So it is. Please just...how do I not say ‘shut up and just take it’?” Knowing the soon-to-be business owner well enough it’s a pretty fair statement.

 

“From you, I feel like I deserve it. And I mean that in a totally not bummer kind of way.” The conversation happens aside from the rest of his sort of in laws. He means it too; ever since they’d gotten serious he’d felt genuinely better about himself, about keeping people in his life. And he had worked his ass off for that place, would continue to. He deserved this. “But it’s a loan.”

 

“Yes dear.”

 

“I mean it.”

 

“Oh trust me I know.”

 

***

 

Paul fights back. he can now, he'll always be small but he's fucking trained, still, he finds himself pinned to the ground faster than he'd like to admit. He'll tell himself later that 7 to 1 is hardly a fair fight but...c'mon, he trains MMA fighters.   
  
His mind flashes back to when he was still essentially just a kid - he can't help it - when he wasn't strong enough, had been overpowered and  overwhelmed. The last time he truly felt helpless   
  
It shouldn't be like that now, this couldn't possibly be happening. He tries to struggle again but a silver flash at the edge of his vision and a sharp edge at his throat make him go still. He might have forced them to make good on the threat a long time ago but he lives for things now. For him.   
  
He tries to stay calm, just breathe. he looks at the man above him, the one with the knife, looks into his eyes and knows it won't do any good but still..."please don't" he hates how his voice sounds, small and scared.   
  
The plea is met with laughter and he doesn't try again. Knows to try and cooperate as much as he can stand because it can always get worse and it's his best chance to stay alive.   
  
He survives. He pays for it but is somehow still grateful to be alive, especially when Elliot pushes past nurses and doctors who are asking stupid, unimportant questions, just to get close to him.   
  
He looks Paul over, he's furious but he keeps his cool and sits at his bedside, holds the hand that isn't broken to hell and gently as humanly possible.   
  
"You left the house..." Paul's voice comes out hoarse, he'd tried to be quiet...Elliot nods and smiles through his tears. He kisses his hand.   
  
"What the hell do I wanna be there for? When you're here, needing me."

 

***

 

Elliot buys a gun. Every day he takes to learn how to use it, he asks his little brother to keep on eye on Paul.

 

“Are you up to something?”

 

He looks through his baby brother, to what he sees as a dangerous and stupid question. Obviously. And why shouldn’t he be?

 

What those men had done to Paul, what he’d received other than the scrapes and broken bones. The reason why.

 

They were going to pay. He was going to get out of the house and he was going to make them pay.

 

Paul hadn’t done anything wrong that night. He’d just been walking home, as usual, from work, and though the planned revenge was all for his baby he couldn’t help but feel guilty too. Guilty for his issues preventing him from being there that night.

 

It could have happened any night. Elliot was hardly ever around to walk him to or from work; only occasionally did he visit the gym during hours to see his baby.

 

He’d rushed to the hospital when someone contacted him, explained the situation. Paul had been corned. It wasn’t a mugging, it wasn’t a gang thing, it was just a bunch of guys that didn’t like him for what he was. So they punished him.

 

When he woke, when they had those few moments at a time before exhaustion and medication took him away again, he had a suspicious eye on his boyfriend. Maybe once he even said “don’t,” but in his state that could have meant anything.

 

***

 

He thinks his hands should be shaking as he raises the pistol, aims to kill the man standing at the other end of the alley. But they're not. He's not nervous at all, this has been the end game since he purchased the weapon. He'd waited every day until Paul was asleep, his pain medication doing their job to keep him some kind of comfortable after what happened to him...  
  
Then he'd left the apartment, never once thinking about it, his anxiety momentarily on pause for the sake of the his goal. He went to a shooting range, learned how to use the gun, prepared himself for his mission.   
  
He was ready. His mind barely registered what he'd done until he hears the sound. He watches the man's eyes go wide. He's not laughing anymore as his hand goes to his chest. A second later, his shirt begins to stain red and he falls to the ground.   
  
Elliot walks over, stares down at the fucker, watches his gasp for breath, coughing up blood. His eyes are full of fear and desperation as he reaches out, fingers weakly grasping at Elliot's pant leg.   
  
He wasn't there when it had happened but somehow the whole thing seems to play over and over on his mind like a horror movie reel. There's a flash behind his eyelids, he imagines that look is probably similar to the look on Paul's face when this asshole led his friends in fucking gang raping him just a half a block from their apartment.   
  
What the fuck were they trying to prove? Was it a punishment? Was it personal? What had Paul ever done to them to provoke that kind of response?   
  
Nothing. The answer is nothing. Nothing to deserve the bruises, the broken bones, what the doctors had referred to - clinically - as 'abrasions' and 'lacerations'. Fuck that, they tore Paul  apart like animals. No one deserves that especially not Paul. Maybe he's bias, maybe that was this fucker's mistake.   
  
He kicks the hand away.   
  
He's silent as he watches the man exsanguinate, absolutely certain that he hadn't missed, he'd hit his target. He wanted him to suffer and he does for several long minutes and then Elliot sees the exact moment when the life leaves his eyes. finally the weight on his soul is a little more bearable. he knows this was the right path. On the chance alone that the attack took even a little progress away, let alone impeded his lover’s life anymore with the memory of it, Elliot was making sure these last moments felt like a lifetime of agony.  

 

It was all worth it; even if Paul was disappointed with him. But he probably wouldn’t be. And he’d get away with it.

 

Self defense.

 

A good friend that worked with Paul came immediately to the text. They’d planned this ahead of time, and Elliot was ready to stand there and take a solid beating to back up his story. When he called the police a few moments later his target was already dead. He was already dead before their friend came along and made things ‘look good’.

 

It was well known that Elliot had problems. It was also no secret what the man had done. It would, and it did as he perfectly described the incident while sitting in the back of an ambulance with one of those shock blankets wrapped around him like he was the victim here, make total sense that one of them would attack Paul’s boyfriend too. If he were ever caught outside, if they’d had a specific target in mind, then they had the boyfriend in mind too.

 

***

 

It’s hardly a secret what happened.

 

The truth is easy to keep to themselves, for those that know it.

 

When Paul starts getting around, when he’s eventually released and is getting back into shape to go to work again he doesn’t even mention it. He thanks him for being by his side, continues with therapy.

 

There’s no backsliding. No begging for him to take better care of himself, stop punishing himself like he used to. He eats, stays off the drugs. He goes back to work and if the attack or his recovery ever comes up he’s at peace with it. Yeah it left him laid up and in bed for a long time. Yeah, it was awful and unfair. But it was over. He was healed. His white knight was there for him and there to stay. In spite of what had happened (for the last goddamn time), this upswing had momentum.


	4. Anywhere I Go There You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infection begins

It's not like 9-11. You're not gonna be sitting around with friends someday, discussing where you were the day everything changed. Because this change won't bring about recession, inept leadership using a tragedy to inspire outrage and fear to justify their overreaching hand. Getting on a flight won't suddenly take 3 hours and become a violation of your privacy, body, and toiletries.

It goes without saying that these inconveniences will pale in comparison to watching a loved one die, leaving you with a horrific choice. Either put a bullet or a blade through their skull, without a second to spare and allow for grief. Or you don't, then watch them get back up, a shell of their former self. A rotting corpse, that feels no pain, single minded and hell bent on tearing you apart with their teeth.

Nothing could be as bad as watching humanity devolve into nothing more than small groups, terrified and always running. Hunted by the dead and living alike. Willing to kill a stranger or even a friend for meager resources in the blink of an eye. Never being able to turn their back without wondering if the survivors around you, the people you choose to fight on against the inevitable with, for whatever reason. The people you've likely never met but will just as likely die beside one day.

No. This is different. Not in that the world won't be forever changed but irreparably, leaving not a single moment that isn't devoted to running, hiding, fighting, surviving. No time for nostalgia. Little desire to relive what was the worst day of ever single person's life that managed to keep it.

***

Aaron:

Eric spends the day listening to the radio. The broadcasts get generic (not a good sign) so he starts packing their RV with bottled water, canned goods, their camping gear is already inside. Ironically they were about to take a road trip.

He grabs a few mementos that are special, a wedding gift from his parents, some photos. Gets a text from his parents, it’s less than promising but he won’t let himself worry about that now.

Aaron is at his office; he went back one last time to grab a few things, get information on the crisis. ‘it's the best way if we want to know what’s actually going on’ he’d reasoned. Eric couldn’t poke any holes in the theory so he’s let him go but he’s starting to maybe regret that decision.

"Pick up the fucking phone,” he mutters. He's been trying him for hours and isn't expecting any luck, is about to hang up when Aaron's voice miraculously comes through. The connection isn't great but it'll do.

"Babe? I'm on my way home..." he hears and his stomach flutters. He let's out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Hurry the fuck up. I love you."

"I love you too," Aaron manages before the line disconnects.

Eric hopes it's sooner rather than later, their neighbors are starting to get antsy, having watched the politician’s husband pack up their RV all day probably isn't doing much to instill much faith but what the fuck ever. Fuck em. Aaron is the civil servant, he chose that path, and Eric had supported him but he’s his husband first and foremost. His constituents can get their own shit together.

Aaron is home in less than an hour, had been stuck in traffic but knew DC well enough to maneuver through the city without too much trouble. He smiles when he sees the work Eric has managed to accomplish. “You know you’re my better half, right?”

Eric gives him a peck on the cheek and hands him a case of bottled water. “Like you had to tell me.”

Aaron is telling Eric what he found out as they finish packing. Across the street the old woman wanders out into the yard. Their haste in packing, traveling between the house and the RV, seems to attract her. She wanders over, grayer than ever and rasping a horrible noise as she nears them.

Eric is quick to action, wrestling away the walker she’s still somehow gripping even though she’s not carefully shuffling behind it. He doesn't go for the head immediately.

"The head," Aaron says finally through his shock. Eric rolls his eyes and hands him the walker.

"That information slip really slip your mind this long or were you just enjoying yourself?” Eric glares at him, hands the walker over, “Finish up and get in the RV," he says before disappearing into the RV.

After she goes down for good, Aaron carefully checks her over.

Eric, wondering what's taking his so long, sticks his head out the window. "What in the ever living fuck is wrong with you?!? Get away from the fucking zombie and get in this RV right now dammit! You can miss work, you can shirk your civic duties.You can get in to fucking RV before more of our neighbors try to find out how we taste"

"Zombie?" Eric sighs at his husband’s question. He’s the one who, against better advisement, went back to soak up the latest and probably last special alerts for some of the government. Aaron had been considering moving up in the world of politics. Fortunately he’d been in good with a few higher level people who were happy to pass on the information he couldn’t get himself.

"She dropped about an hour or so ago...what?! I was busy and she's old." It’s Aaron’s turn to toss his husband a look. He doesn’t have to say anything about how his husband left their neighbor’s body as he chose to keep packing instead.

 

"She's not bit." He shakes off the sense of horror at the way she felt and smelled already. Neither man had been very fond of her, she was nosy and a general complainer and pain. But she was their neighbor and an old woman.

 

"Yes, I know the lore. Get the fuck in here," Eric demands. He throws a bottle of antibacterial ointment at him. "I guess they were a little off and if they weren't, that's not gonna help but better safe than sorry."

“If you know the lore…”

Another glare, a roll of his eyes. “I didn't go for the headshot I know. Shut up and sit down.” Still slightly miffed that he left at all, Eric changes the subject in hopes there was a good enough reason not to take his advice this morning. “Did you at least learn anything other than what we’ve just now figured out via Mrs. Morris’ zombified corpse?”

“There's a few places the government set up.” Aaron pulls a notebook out of his pocket, some addresses and notations of back routes to reach them.

 

“Not public knowledge, I imagine.” Aaron sighs, shakes his head.

 

“Virginia. We head south. Definitely not north. Essential personnel are headed to their emergency bunkers or whatever they have set up. We’re kind of on our own. Cards on the table, this isn’t getting better any time soon, if their reaction is any indication.”

Eric doesn't say anything but throws him a look.

***

A few moments of silence, other than discussing routes and avoiding crowds in the streets. The neighborhoods they’re driving through are still nice enough for the rioting and chaos to be a bit shocking.

Aaron sits up straighter in his seat suddenly, looking away from his notebook and digging through his pockets for his cell."My parents-"

 

"WERE in Aspen. I say were because I hope they're dead." They don’t talk much at all these days. Their son’s insistence to live his life never something they could accept enough to even spend more than a few moments talking in a text once in a while.

The last argument Eric and Aaron had actually had was over the latter, in a moment of weakness, trying to get ahold of his mother when the couple decided they might start trying to go through the adoption process. Eric had been livid, especially at the controlling bitch’s reaction. He’d spoken to her personally. Had called someone to draw up papers and a possible case that would ensure she’d never see her grandchildren if they had any.

"Your parents-"

 

"Sent me a text to get the fuck out of Dodge and make sure to look them up in the afterlife. They're good parents. Why do I have to keep pointing out these differences to you?" He's calm as he swerves around an ambulance. "Seatbelt."

 

"Gonna soccer mom me?"

 

"Like you even know what that feels like with your demented childhood - and this throwback to the bitchy little queer boy I met in Africa, cute. But I'm trying to concentrate. Flirt with me later."

Aaron's phone rings. It says mom on the screen. Eric gets to it first. "Damn...I'm tempted to answer in hope that she growls at me but, nope." Turns it off. "See. My parents don't want me making the half hour trip to check on them. Yours are calling from Aspen, and check your texts tomorrow. I bet their motives are less than pure."

 

Sure enough. She doesn't even end the message with 'I love you' and is just hoping he'll use his connections to get them to safety. He makes a call on Eric's parents behalf but expects little to come of it. His can Rot.

He doesn't know why he's upset but Eric is tentatively sympathetic. "What did you expect? You told her how bad a mother she was in front of a licensed professional who just kept nodding along and she cried but her apologies were hollow and she's never gonna not be her."

And that's all he needs to not be upset. She will always be her and Eric will always be Eric and those truths are what keep him sane somehow.

***

The first night Aaron doesn’t need to say much to let his husband know that he’s kind of freaking out. That he has more problems spinning around in his head than solutions.

“I need you.”

“I brought lube.”

“You’re a fucking genius.”

***

A few days later there’s no choice but to take a notoriously busy road. Headed south to what used to be a gated community that Aaron knows is set as a possible safety zone for anyone coming out of DC, he points to something ahead and almost takes the wheel from his seat beside Eric.

“Those people- they need help.”

“No, no fucking way. There’s too many of those things-” Eric is insisting but one look at Aaron’s damn do-gooder eyes (which is funny because he literally got a degree in runnin charitable organizations) and he changes his course, punches it and somehow manages to spin the cumbersome vehicle around so it’s wedged between the approaching droves of dead people and a group of four looking panicked and unprepared to deal with the threat. an older couple and 2 men in their 20s, their children.

Aaron is out the door as soon as the RV comes to a stop and eric could fucking kill him…might kill him if he makes it back alive. he's sure as hell not going out there but its taking too long and fuck it. He grabs his rifle and aims for the oncoming hoard through the driver’s side window, shoulting for Aaron to speed it the hell up.

Shots ring out, there’s shouting and chaos and the groans of the dead followed by sickening ‘wet’ and still somehow ‘crunchy’ (?) sounds that are becoming far more familiar to them than they ever should be. The RV door swings open and the first person through the door isn’t who Eric is expecting, certainly not who he wants to see but when he levels his rifle at the frightened older gentleman, he feels almost kinda bad.

“Aaron.”

“Babe, just chill, i’m here.” of course he’d the ‘last man standing’.

“Anyone bit?”

The man shakes his head, “No, no one’s hurt, not bitten, and definitely sorry to trouble you. I’m Reg, by the way.” He hasn't even lowered the gun and the man is already trying to shake his hand. Eric sighs, nods for them to get inside. That hoard isn’t slowing down and Aaron is in a stubborn mood today, apparently. Stubborn enough to get himself killed.

Deanna and Aaron immediately strike up a conversation, start talking strategy. He’s surprised and a little impressed that someone in his world has made it through, and he recognizes her. “Deanna Monroe, Ohio?”

“Yes?”

“Aaron Raleigh. I work- uhh, worked as state auditor in New York.”

“Then as soon as your friend gets us the hell out of here we can start talking about Alexandria, it’s-”

“It was a gated community before the world ended but the government slated it as a possible safe zone when shit looked like it was going downhill.”

They discuss the various shit, and how fast it went, where they were when it happened. Her husband Reg explains that he’s an architect and there’s a big project nearby where they can salvage scrap metal for defense.

Their kids, in their 20s and kind of cocky, stay relatively quiet while their parents make plans. One of them, Aiden, pulls a bit of a face when Eric introduces himself as ‘the husband of the dumbass that jumped into traffic for them’. Deanna quietly scolds their son and the younger couple watch the other, Spencer, silently consider to keep whatever opinions he has, if he gives a shit like his brother, to himself. Ah, very self serving. Very smart.

******

Paul  
The walk home from the gym had been...eventful, to put it mildly. The city had been on edge for days, it seemed and with the way things were shaping up, it was all about to spill over. He's thinking, 'maybe we should skip town, ya know, until this all blows over,' as his key gets stuck in the door.

"Fucking wonderful" he mutters. The power flickers. Not good. "Fuck." Getting through the mess outside would only be that much more difficult in the dark.

A neighbor bumps into him, hard, and doesn't bother to say anything. Normally, Paul would let it go but the way the guy is moving, stumbling down the hall a few more steps before his hand reaches to steady himself on the white wall...and leaves a streak of bright red blood (?!?) as he goes.

Nope. Just fucking no. He goes to try his key again but before he can, the door flies open and Elliot is dragging him inside. He's frantically looking him over, "Are you ok?" He ask/demands. Paul's a little shell-shocked so its difficult to answer immediately.

Elliot takes his face in his hands, leans down their eyes are level, close enough to feel his breath against his skin. "Baby. did anything happen? Did anyone *bite* you?" It's an odd question but Paul manages to shake his head. Elliot sighs, pulls him to his chest and holds him tight. "Thank God..." he whispers. "We-"

"Have to get out of the city, I know."

"I was about to come find you, you're late. Would’ve come earlier but I was packing."

"I took the long way..." Paul says, looking over the gear laid out in front of their couch. Beyond it, he can see a flash of light through the window, a ball of fire erupts not too far away and the power flickers twice before giving up for good.

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

Elliot grabs a flashlight, tosses Paul his leather duster, his gloves, looks him over. He's changed into jeans after work but is still wearing sneakers and the yellow track jacket he loved so much. "Change your shoes." He says, kicking a pair of comfortable leather boots his way.

Paul doesn't argue, just dresses quickly as Elliot shoves his running shoes into the backpack he always used when they left the city. He takes the hand offered, let's himself be pulled to his feet, puts on his pack. Elliot has an extra duffel bag with their camping gear so he grabs the light, grips his hand tightly at the door.

"No matter what happens...do not let go." He says. Elliot nods and they're off. He checks the hallway, their neighbor from before is slumped on the ground in front of his apartment and Paul tries not to think of it, heads for the stairs.

On the street, it's chaos, just people everywhere, absolute insanity and only just been out here. They get a block before someone starts shit and he lays them out, decides enough is enough. A Humvee is cruising down the street and he steps out in front of it, hold up a hand. He immediately regrets the decision but it actually screeches to a halt a foot or two in front of him.

He can see Elliot out of the corner of his eye, still on the sidewalk, knows what he must be thinking, how pissed he must be, but thankfully the other man takes action. There's only one national guardsman inside.

"We need a ride," he tells him. The man only thinks about it for a second before motioning toward the back. Paul wait til Elliot is inside, thankful for the man's help but a lifetime in the system leave little room for trust.

He sees the driver's eyes go wide before he's got his gun out the driver's side window. "Duck" he yells and Paul does. The shot goes off and he spares a look back. A woman (?) lays dead on the ground, a bullet through her brain but he doesn't have time to give a shit because Elliot is screaming for him to get inside.

They're out of the city, the skyline on fire behind them, bridges blown out, no way back now, when the soldier tells them he needs to let them out. It's fine, he did more than the lifelong new Yorkers expected even gave them a few helpful tips along the way. He hands Paul a gun.

"You know how to use this?" He asks. "This end is the dangerous end."

Elliot takes it disengages and then re-engages the safety. "Not if you leave that on," he says. The soldier laughs, points to a bag in the back.

"True enough," he says, laughing. "That bag has MREs, some water, ammunition for that gun. I see you packed provisions but those will get you a little further. I gotta get my family in Philly so...good luck."

They shake hands and part ways.

***

They walk in silence for a little while, still holding each other's hand. They hadn't let go since Paul had climbed into the Humvee and he still wasn't ready - neither of them were - not after what they'd seen and heard. People fucking eating people. End of days shit.

"When civilization ends, it ends fast," Elliot had whispered as they watched a woman be overtaken by a month of monsters straight out of a movie, heard her screams.

In the distance, there's a light, the glow of headlights but they're not getting any closer or further away so…

Soon, they're close enough to see why. The engine is running but the driver and passenger side doors are open. There's blood on the driver's door and growling in the distance, the crunch of bones snapping. Paul looks he car over quickly, and after being sure no one is inside, ushers Elliot in through the driver's side. Then he sees it.

20 yards away, a man is crouched over a body. He's got what looks like a woman's right arm in his hands and Paul freezes as he takes a bite. What. The. Fuck? Elliot closes and locks the passenger door, the noise gets the man's attention and he slowly turns to face the car.

"Paul..." Elliot reached over, grabs his wrist and pulls. It's a good thing too because as the man gets to his feet, the headlights illuminate just how much damage has been done. The woman on the ground's abdomen has been completely devoured...and the man...his face. His cheek has been torn away, exposing his teeth and jaw. It's almost like he's smiling..."Paul!" Elliot shouts this time.

He slides into the seat, slams the door and shifts the car into gear, hits the gas, mowing down what he assumes used to be the owner of this car. He's relieved to find the gas tank is full and the blood doesn't bother him, their soldier friend told them it was the bites. To be careful, the military was treating everything as a biohazard but it was bullshit...so Paul drives until a line of red glowing brake lights appear in the distance. Elliot taps his shoulder. "Take the next right," he says.

He has a map out in front of him, a flashlight in one hand, a highlighter in the other. He's mapped out a route of side roads he thinks is least likely to be clogged with traffic. They make the best fucking team. Paul is almost sorry he teased him so much about his survivalist obsession but at the moment, he has to concentrate.

****

When the fuel runs out, it's time to abandon the car and take to the woods. Elliot's got a map and a compass and they're not inexperienced in the woods. In fact, the thing they did most often outside together was leave the city and take a little vacation from humanity.

They'd taken up rock climbing and camping as sort of therapy for Elliot's agoraphobia... Elliot had become a tiny bit obsessed - which Paul did not realize was a common theme until seeing it first hand - and dove head first into hardcore survivalist stuff...well, Paul hadn't complained before and certainly wasn't now.

They hike for hours, and after the first couple times they run into an "empty", Paul gets an idea. They sit down for a rest and he searches for a suitable branch. Long and sturdy, straight. He uses Elliot's hatchet to strip off the bark and sharpen it to a point.

The next empty gets a high kick to the throat and like he'd thought, since it's dead, it's ability to counter balance was nonexistent. It topples onto it's back and Elliot steps on it's chest and drives the sharp end of the stick through it's eye socket. "Teamwork makes the dream work, baby," Elliot says, laughing when Paul rolls his eyes.

"Don't start with that shit..." he warns. "Let's get away from the smell of this thing and set up camp. Sun won't be out too much longer and we aren't sleeping on the ground with these things..."

Elliot nods and they walk a little further, he stops and looks up at the configuration of the trees around him. "This looks good. You wanna watch out down here or set up the stingray?"

"I'll handle the tent, you just focus on not getting eaten ok? Besides, after that first time -" Paul teases scaling a tree with ease to secure the rigging. Elliot glares at him.

"One time!"

"Only takes once..."

Their first trip out, Elliot hadn't properly secured one of the straps (to his credit, it wasn't the easier thing to get the hang of), it had rained in the night and it slipped half a dozen feet lower than the rest of the rigging. They woke up soaking and sloping and even at the end of the the world, Paul wasn't about to let him forget it.

"You're think you're so fucking funny...just make sure that thing's high enough up there, shorty."

***

"Just 9 more minutes please..." Paul mumbles, still not quite awake.

"S'not me, babe. There's an empty scratching at the bottom of the the tent. told you it was too low."

Paul groans and kinda glares at Elliot over his shoulder, smirking over a cup of instant coffee. He was right. So a true 'glare' wasn't entirely deserved. But that must be one tall fucking zombie to be reaching them where he'd secured the tent. He peeks through the transparent panel in the floor. Sure enough....

"Not my fault the fucker's 6 and a half feet tall, he's wearing a fucking basketball jersey! Open the tent and give me the stick." He says.

Elliot laughs. “Is he famous?” He asks as he looks down again with Paul.

“Nope. College student.”

“Bummer.”

“Just give me the stick…”

At least they still laugh a lot. At first, there was confusion, fear, heartbreak...now just mild morbid amusement at the absurdity of the situation.

That night, when Paul puts a finger over his lips- they’ve realized that lights and sounds attract those things- and goes for Elliot’s belt buckle that’d normally that’d be a sign of ‘using sex for a coping strategy’’ (a big topic in his therapy back in the day) his boyfriend thinks this might be the rare moment it’s ok. There’s never been anything like this. Not even after everything they’ve been through.

“I need you.”

“I brought lube.”

“You’re a fucking genius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to itslifethatscaresmetodeath for this chapter, it's her baby and my favorite


	5. Every Single Narrative Below Reflects That Moment When It Broke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron and Paul both need to be outside, exploring.
> 
> Potential threats upset the early stages of Alexandria. 
> 
> Paul does his best to move on from a tragedy.
> 
> Title from La Dispute's "A Broken Jar"

Aaron:

Everything seems perfect at first, more than perfect. Aaron can’t contain his excitement when Reg puts a plan together to salvage scrap metal from a shopping mall that had been under construction when the world ended. For the moment, he can even tolerate (if not begin to almost like at least one of) the Monroe’s sons.

Deanna has endless plans for the place. She thinks it’s the center of everything. Her big dream to rebuild the world starts with welcoming more people in. They fill in fairly quickly, and it’s that point when the Raleighs have a sinking feeling in the pits of their stomachs that these people are not only the sheltered type already, but have somehow managed to avoid the dangers outside.

But that’s a little thing, and there’s not much time to worry when Eric and Aaron are assigned to actively recruit new people. It goes smoothly most of the time, and there’s no need to learn harsh lessons about taking their time and being sure to let the right ones in (hard choices need to be made...and sometimes the world throws them a bone and it’s the simple fact that a group is better out there than it would be inside).

Mistakes are made, though, and when the community meets (as per Deanna’s firm rules) to discuss a handful of men that just aren’t working out, Aaron takes it hard. He’d fought for these people, but they’re troublemakers to say the least. Not just outsiders, not just people that ‘don’t fit in’, but dangerous. Some of the neighborhood says ‘they’ve been out *there* too long’.

Out there too long.

Like it’s another world. Like some of their own people don’t spend more than half their time ‘out there’, supplying, scouting, doing anything and everything that needs to be done to keep this place safe and growing. After a while, whether or not others on the teams that came together agree, felt right to Aaron. Sometimes, he needs to be out there. Having Eric with him is a double edged sword. It’s nice, it’s comforting, he’s always been his damn rock but he knows they both worry too much about the other sometimes.

Eric acts immediately when Deanna asks Aaron to join Aiden and his new buddy Nicholas, escorting the exiled group out. That’s what the community decided. Aaron was a part of it and as she tells his husband when he asks for a private moment to speak with her, she thought Aaron would feel the need to be a part of it.

“He does. And that’s exactly why I don’t want him to be. This isn’t on him. I’m not even disagreeing with you or the rest here. Those people are dangerous. They should go on their way. Fairly. With supplies and things to defend themselves with.”

“Agreed. Of course. Already set in motion. Aaron doesn’t have to go if this will weigh on him. I don’t want that. It’s on me. They’re my rules and I know what they mean.”

“We all do. That’s why I don’t want him to be a part of it.”

***

Aaron sneaks away, knows he’s late already of course but he didn’t want to have this conversation with Eric. He doesn’t realize the moment he’s slipping away isn’t long after Eric is wandering back home from his talk with Deanna.

They’ll continue their own talk later, the one where his husband absolutely forbid he be a part of this. The blond is sure that’s not over. He’ll understand his husband’s feelings but he’ll be angry.

In all honesty, it’s no picnic working with Aiden. He’s been the biggest pain in the ass and the most obvious about his dislike of the Raleighs. Whatever reason he has, he keeps pushing buttons. All in spite of owing his fucking life to them.

And Nicholas, well, for a minute there Aaron had felt bad for the guy. He seemed to be that follower type, the kind of man that needed a leader- no, a boss to tell him every move to make. It wasn’t until he chose Aiden, and seemed incredibly defensive if their actions outside the gate were questioned, that Aaron gave up on the guy.

When he finds them out there, hands bloody as they inspect the perimeter of a broken down home in the woods before tossing the pantry items given to the exiles in a pile. There’s more than what Aaron estimated, knew, had been taken this go around and that raises a lot of questions. But right now, Aaron is livid.

“Well, shit, the least you could do is bring our food back, if you were just bringing them out here to kill them anyway.” People often underestimate him, and that’s fine, especially when he grabs Nicholas first, wrenching canned goods out of his hands, throwing them back in his own pack.

“That’s kind of cold.” Aiden steps up in his face, pushing him back. “You’re not a part of this. And you don’t have any idea what happened out here! They came at us!”

“Came at you? Are you serious? Their weapons are back home. *That* was part of this. They didn’t have a chance.”

The two wrestle each other to the ground, Aaron doesn’t get the upper hand at first but when he does, Aiden is still for a moment. Aaron gets up, waiting for one of the boys to attack him again but the Monroe’s son only has more shit to talk.

“Don’t you dare tell my mother a word about this!” He screams as the other scout begins picking up their supplies.

“Oh, I’ll tell her *whatever* I want. And she’ll listen. Unfortunately, I think I know exactly why she puts you on the details she does. And her, I feel bad for. Rolled two gutter balls with you and your brother, didn’t she? Double bagels. A coward and a tiny American psycho.”

“Don’t you dare!”

***

Heath calls an emergency meeting with the scouts and Deanna.

Being his usual self, he’s quietly pissed and sarcastic when he talks about the community that just last week was surviving.

“Yeah, we were going to talk to them about trading, maybe, but they were thriving on their own,” Scott adds.

“Right. Well, this week, they’re gone.” When everyone asks him to elaborate, he raises an eyebrow. “What does *gone* mean anymore? They’re fucking dead. And that’s not the worst part.”

Heath describes the numbers, close to twice what they had been when the community was alive and well. He draws on a road map, points out the way that roaming dead could- and definitely were- being diverted into the quarry.

From his vantage point looking down, he'd been surprised when he watched one tumble down into the quarry, get back up, adding to the staggering numbers.

Some of the scouts argue that it’s convenient, provides a sort of safety net for Alexandria.

“And what about those people?” Heath asks, already knowing the answer. It was unfortunate. He tended to think the worst of everyone until they proved them wrong and, all of them included, and made a mistake or two recently. Still, he felt it was cold and told them so.

“More importantly,” Deanna begins with a hand up to silence the chatter and quiet disagreements, “we need more of a solution.”

Having stood in the back, whispering to one another, Aaron mentions the trucks Reg had used to haul the materials from the shopping center to fortify their walls. Eric takes the map from Heath, pointing out the exits and noting exactly where they could park the spare vehicles to keep the growing hoard from wandering down their road and straight to their back walls.

“It’s settled then. Top priority, I want all of you on it, watching each other’s backs. And then, we never take that road again."

 

Paul:

He'd twisted his fucking ankle and Elliot thought it best to rest in an abandoned barn for a few days to give it time to heal right. Anything could be worse now beyond the days of a quick trip to the ER. Any time was the worst possible time to be laid up but when they hear the sound of footsteps outside, dry leaves and twigs crunching beneath boots, the kind of laughter you hear when a group has become a single minded monster.

Everybody wanted, needed, something these days. The men looked well stocked and well fed from their appearance, heavily armed, muscled. Not the kind you’d expect in a robbery in the old days; from the looks of them and the way they behaved with one another they’d probably come together after all of this.

 

The usual rhetoric comes from the man in front. His buddies snear, pulling their weapons. They’d seen the faint light from a lantern and it was obvious they didn't mean well from the start but Elliot tried. "Please, we'll cooperate. Look, my ... friend is hurt-"

 

Paul hates that he has to sit back on this on this, hates that he has to make Elliot do something he normally never would. But he’d been doing better in every way before.

"Oh, your *friend* is hurt?" The guy takes a shot, hits him in the leg. At least the fucker went for the same one that was already injured. The pain makes him cry out and they all laugh, still looking more to Elliot than him. "Now he's really hurt, faggot.

Then it was so quick. A clean headshot. Elliot was on his knees with his hands up trying to reason... he'd talked his (their) way out of worse so Paul wasn’t too worried...and then they just shot him. He has the momentary and horrifying realization that this wasn’t about supplies- they hadn’t had anything those men had needed. This was about who and what they were. They took him out of this world just because they loved each other.

Elliot is just fucking gone. Blink of an eye and it's over. Paul hates himself for being able to ignore the pain and the injury only when it was too late. But the second it happens, the second Elliots body slumps and his blood splashes the face of the man that fired, he loses all control, all thought for himself or anything.

Paul doesn’t see red. He doesn’t see anything. Not until it’s done. He dimly recalls them begging for their lives. At least one of them had, as he tore them apart in turns. He’d knocked them down, tying them together. Made each watch as he made mostly meat out of them.

Finding their gear outside, he chains them to the dilapidated fence posts outside. Well, what’s left of them. Their bodies don’t take long to reanimate, growling and snarling at him. Paul finally snaps out of it, or at least he would say he did later but that was only the beginning of his lowest moment.

***

He knows the wound in his thigh is infected, festering really. the bullet had gone through at least, and he'd done basic first aid after he'd stopped the bleeding but not much else since.

And he doesn't particularly feel the need either. It doesn't hurt...unless he moves. And he's kinda stopped doing that. He hasn't left the barn since chaining what he'd left of the men who did this outside. The walkers kept others at bay and the doors were secured.

He has a fever, for sure. Not the fever that people get after being infected with whatever this shit that had been terrorizing the planet for the last year get. Nope. Just a dirty, neglected wound that was slowly killing him.

He knows he promised him. Pinky swore. And he'd thought to keep that promise for about 30 seconds after he'd taken care of the men who'd taken away his world...but Elliot was the strong one. And after burying him, in his sleeping bag, wrapped in a tarp, as deep as he could in his injured, grief stricken state, he'd climbed into his own bed roll - laid out over the freshly dug grave - and here he still laid.

But he knows the fever is bad. And he knows what he has to do before it takes him. He's had the same gun that killed Elliot in his hand for hours. He won't be coming back as one of those things...and he raises it to his head, presses the barrel to his temple and closes his eyes. He's done it countless times and this time, but this time he intends to go through it. The first time he’s had this kind of though since the world ended, since it became new and oddly more suited to their differences...

But there's a hand on his this time and he reacts. He's weak so simply ends up giving the weapon over and rolling into his back. Elliot is crouched down beside him, smiling gently, shaking his head.

 

"No way, babe. a promise is a promise..." he scolds.

Paul can offer no protest, he's right. A promise is a promise but he doesn't wanna leave and he knows if he gets back up like he's bound to, there's no guarantee the barn will hold him. well, the fact that he ran out of water 2 days ago doesn't help much...

"C'mon, beautiful, sit up," he hears, blinks hard. That's not Elliot's voice. And as he's pulled up into a sitting position and a bottle of water is pressed to his mouth, his vision begins to clear. Elliot isn't there. he was hallucinating...again.

Another man is there in his place, still smiling, but definitely not the man he'd spent the better part of 6 years head over heels in love with. Besides the physical differences - this man was quite obviously Hispanic, to put it the best way he could - Elliot is in the ground beneath him, his wasted life and potential rotting away.

"What'd you call me?" He asks, finally, after his survival instincts kick in and he empties the bottle. He wants to ask why the man didn't immediately negatively react to his fever but he's already checking his wound. Ah. There's the pain.

The man winces along with him. "It's bad, but if I get you back to hilltop, Harlan will have you fixed up in no time." He tucks the gun away into his pack, knows Paul is watching him and smiles. "I'll give it back as soon as you've got a clearer head. And as soon as I know you're not gonna shoot me for calling you beautiful."

"Paul."

"So that's your name? Well, I was just going on instinct and you look like jesus Christ in one of those pretty Renaissance paintings...I'll call you Paul, if you'd rather."

Paul wants to cry but he laughs. "Naw, go with Jesus," he says. It's mostly the fever talking but this man is *people*. He doesn't really want people that close, not close enough to know him that well.

"Eduardo." The other man supplies, laughing when Paul mentions the very very obviously Hispanic name is kinda like putting a hat on a hat. Again, the fever is talking but he doesn't necessarily disagree with his mouth, just it's decision to voice the opinion out loud - or he might under normal circumstances.

"Fair enough, Jesus." Eduardo laughs and uses the new name easily, like he was born with it. Paul lets himself be helped up, and one step at a time, leaning on a stranger, he gets further and further away from death and his worst nightmare. Eduardo doesn't mention the freshly dug grave or the dispatched walkers outside.

A week and he's back on his own two feet, sooner than anyone believed possible. But he had dreamed of his love so many times coming in and out of the haze. He'd be pissed at Eduardo, who'd visited often, but he'd made a promise. And if any one word could describe Paul rovia - Jesus now, it had caught on before he was even lucid - that word would be determined.

***

Gregory certainly wouldn’t be his first pick for the “boss around here”, as he puts it. Jesus knows this the first time they talk. But the guy had been here from the start and helped organize the first few groups of settlers.

So the goal was to give him a good reason, all the reasons, to keep him around. Not that it seemed like anyone was ever thrown out of this place. Still, old paranoia and survival instincts mingle in the younger man every time he’s asked if he can do this or that.

“Know anything about harvesting in this area?”

“Yes,” he’d reply without hesitation, and bullshit his way through any follow up until he had a moment to buckle down and study. The books he used to tease Elliot for collecting (that weird survivalist, prepper thing he’d been on a kick about…) comes in handy. A cut and dry version of just about everything you’d ever need to know to build and maintain a self sustaining ‘homestead’ by some Jeremiah fella gives him the basics and the library inside Barrington does the rest. A little watching and just plain digging in, trial and error, and he’s got the inside figured out.

Pretty soon he gets a reputation for being a scavenger. He’s one of a few volunteers to go out and get the kind of goods you can’t grow. Little things from before, books, solar-powered electronics. Jesus gets a reputation for being the go-to guy. The secret is he just knows where to look. It’s almost irritating that no one thinks of the unusual places he does to search. But, hey, job security. Eventually he becomes the main, if not only, real scavenger for the community.

He’s fine with that. Over time he develops a new philosophy. It keeps him going. This is a new world and there’s so much out there to discover, so much back at Hilltop to build. He has his own library to keep his mind fresh and entertain him between runs.

Gregory sings his praises. Somehow even that comes out as the occasional ‘backhanded compliment’, but he knows the old man needs him. He’s just the face. Jesus makes Hilltop run. Keeps it safe and gives new life and hope in the smallest ways, which are always the most important. The guards have a hard time staying awake through the night? He raids a nearby office building and finds a huge stash of energy drinks and caffeine gum. Someone has a baby? He finds a place with a stockpile of formula, a surprisingly intact crib- or a book instructing him how to build it himself.

He’s happy on the move, he’s happy out there. Away from *people*.


	6. When Parallel Lines Bisect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus and Aaron both recall reasons why they're hesitant to recruit now.  
> Present day, Jesus has met Rick's group and makes plans for a scavenging mission with Alexandria's best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty long chapter. It won't be split anymore.  
> Also so much credit to itslifethatscaresmetodeath for that Jesus and Negan scene. It's my favorite part of this chapter.

Aaron:

The blood, the bodies, it all makes up the kind of scene that might be described later as ‘too terrible for the mind to make sense of’. He’s seen more than enough carnage in his time outside, maybe even learned a way to cope that normal people would find unsettling. He’s made sense of the new threats out there, as best he can. He can fight the dead all day. 

He’d be less inclined to share the truth with most of his fellow Alexandrians about how easy it’s been so far to handle the threat of another living breathing person. He didn’t even need to remove the human element, or revert to primal instincts. If another person forced him to make the choice, he’s been able to take a life. It’s easy and it hardly keeps him up at night. 

It doesn’t hit him like a brick (if only), the crushing realization that his worst fear had come true long before he spotted his bag on the body of an attacker. He shuffles through the photos, hardly feeling the earth under his feet or the set of stairs he’s sitting on. Everything is covered with drying blood. Everything except the collection of photos, most of which he’d taken himself of his new friends. He knew the missing pack had contained enough damning evidence to lead a stranger back home. The place that was supposed to be safe, that he’d advertised as so removed from the dangers on the other side of it’s walls that the sound of children laughing could be heard from the gates.

A series of decisions he’d made had led to not only deaths, but very real and permanent changes to the lives of those left. They would forever be changed by this day. Losing friends and loved ones, terrified children small enough to barely understand the concept of pain and death even as it lay rotting in the streets they’d played in hours before. 

The weight of it could break him if he let it. That kind of thinking had made him think twice about pursuing higher office in the political world. Not that he thought power would corrupt him. Just that whatever he fought for, the positive changes he attempted to achieve, would have a negative impact on innocent lives. Exactly the same as making the call to walk Daryl and himself into a trap. Hell, he’d fought it a little when his friend seemed unsure. At the very least he knew that Daryl would feel partially responsible. If the bad people were all dead, if he had the evidence back in his possession, should he even tell him? That in itself was another decision that took away his friend’s control. It violated the basic rights of each living person it effected. 

His head was spinning. For the first time, without a doubt, since settling in Alexandria, he was lost. It was so much worse than when he’d seen Eric’s flare go up while leading Rick’s people to their new home. He’d known what to do then, and didn’t give a fuck what happened to the group of survivors if they got in his way. Find Eric, to hell with everyone else. The answer was simple and obvious, and any other outcome but making sure they both survived the night was impossible to imagine. The other man wouldn’t expect anything else, knowing they both had a tendency to let the rest of the world slip away, to behave irrationally, if the other might be in trouble. 

Finding his better half to weigh in on the problem gave him little comfort, a fact that should add to the list of shit he had to feel guilty about. For once he couldn’t hear the other man’s voice in his head, reassuring him with simple unbiased logic that, even indirectly, he wasn’t to blame. A distant echo adds to his ruminations- Eric might agree, might be as disappointed in him as he was with himself.

The monsters had found their way here, destroying lives and leaving a mess of his home. He’d survived it all, watching the repercussions of his actions helplessly.

The only thing that gets him back to his feet is his own voice in his head, not a question but a demand of ‘how dare you’. It’s right of course. If for no other reason than not having an excuse to fall apart, the hope that he’d be needed to save a life or simply save someone else from shouldering the burden. 

He pushes this shit down for now because it would be easier not to. 

***

Paul:

Jesus is halfway to his trailer, trying to get as far away from the heartbreaking sound of a grieving mother. "Hold up there, pretty boy," gloved fingers wrap around his wrist and grip hard. It doesn't just stop him, it pulls Jesus back against the other man's solid form. "I still wanted to talk to you..."

Negan. He'd just listened to the man monologue for over an hour, before, and even during the act of bashing a kid's skull into the ground until it was just *gone* - the other man's arm comes to wrap around his chest, the hand tightening its grip until Jesus is pretty sure he can feel his bones scrape against one another. 

"You're a tough little thing, huh?" When Negan speaks again, Jesus can feel his warm breath against his ear. He reaches for something from one of his men and the arm is back, tighter this time even though Jesus hadn't moved. He could have. He could destroy this mother fucker and all of his goons before they even fired a shot but as confident as he was in his abilities, he steadied himself. A lucky shot, one wrong move and then they'd be back in that circle, someone else paying for his choices, his mistakes. 

Because if he knew anything, he knew *people*, and people like this, like Negan, they never punish you. That's not enough. Piss them off and lose the fight, they'll go for broke messing with your head, hell bent on destroying their target without ever having to lay a finger on them. 

This is no exception. Negan holds a Polaroid in front of his face and even though it had happened just a few minutes ago, not even long enough for the blood spatter to have dried on Jesus' skin. Even though he'd been there on his knees, been forced to watch the whole thing in silence...it actually takes him a fucking second to realize that what he's seeing is what's left of poor Rory.

"Thought you'd wanna keep this. As a reminder, pretty boy. Don't talk to strangers," the Polaroid is flicked to the ground, lands at his feet. His men laugh in the background. Jesus ignores them keeps his breathing even. He is *not* about to take the bait. "But boy do we appreciate it...Ya know the problem with well meaning people? It never ends well for them. Well, it didn't end well for *him*. It could have been you..." Negan laughs at that, "Aw hell, I'm full of shit, it was never gonna be you. You're more useful than all the people in this place combined. They'll never even make the first drop without you, will they?" It's true but rhetorical, the man just likes to hear himself talk.

And Jesus makes the decision that Negan's deep, gravelly voice, it's somewhat conversationally menacing tone - it doesn't scare him. Not one bit. This guy isn't any more intimidating than the bullies he'd known when he was a kid. That's all he was, a fucking bully, with his leather jacket and his baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, and his obscenity laden speeches. In his experience, the performance Negan had just put on was nothing more than a man with something to prove (there'd been tragic consequences but still) and Jesus wasn't a little boy anymore. He didn't engage in this bullshit. 

Just as suddenly as he'd been trapped, he was free, Negan taking a step back. He watches Jesus for a long moment, then finally turns to go, satisfied. He's done, for now. But Jesus turns to face his retreating back. *He's* not done.

"My name's not 'pretty boy' - don't really know how that's an insult by the way," he says,his voice calm and steady. "But you might as well call me Jesus. We *are* gonna be seeing enough of each other." Negan stops in his tracks. Then, instead of retaliating for the smart ass comment, he genuinely laughs. This kid has actually managed to surprise him. It's been so long, he'd almost forgotten what that felt like. He likes it.

"Jesus it is, then," is all he says, and then he's gone, they all are. Jesus doesn't move until the gates are shut, then picks up the photograph, not wanting it lying around where Rory's family could stumble upon it but once he's inside his trailer, standing over the sink with lighter in hand, he can't bring himself to destroy it. 

And he cries, sliding down to the floor and hugging his knees. He hates himself for it but he can't stop. There's a light tapping at the door but whoever it is doesn't wait for an answer. Alex is kneeling in front of him...Alex, such a nice guy, great in bed, but unable to grasp the concept that Jesus wasn't looking for anything serious. Jesus could probably explain, tell the man his heart will always belong to someone else, someone who was gone and never coming back. But that would require talking, about himself, his past - he doesn't do that. It keeps you safe. It keeps you alive. Luckily the other man is easily distracted though and Jesus could use a distraction himself. He practically attacks the man shoving him back against the counter, straddling his thighs and kissing him until he's sure he's pulled every last bit of air from his lungs. 

He pulls back, sees nothing but lust in other man's eyes and the much larger man is already getting to his feet, lifting jesus easily. He stumbles through the tiny space with Jesus trying to kiss and undress him simultaneously but they make it to the bed somehow. 

He lets Alex stay the night - the first, and only time - feeling bad for blurring the lines of his own boundaries. He feels actually kind of terrible for using this perfectly nice guy that he sometimes feels deserves more than his damage and his admittedly sometimes frigid rejections. 

But, then again, Alex is the one who keeps coming back, pushing him, pressuring him, and Elliot had always told him not to let his boundaries be broken no matter what the test. Alex doesn't respect his boundaries. No one's perfect and that's the thing that keeps him from being *just* a nice guy and a great lay. 

Jesus doesn't know when he'd fallen asleep but Alex is actually gone, hadn't taken advantage of his vulnerability and overstayed his welcome. There was a note on his pillow, nothing else. 'I made coffee, left you something to eat. Get up, take a shower, today is a new day and we need you. If you wanna talk, I'm here. - Alex' there's nothing there but concern, no ulterior motive and Jesus isn't used to that.

Tears sting his eyes, but he forces them back. He takes a shower, is grateful for the trouble Alex went through. Then he spots the Polaroid on the floor, face down and under the table where Alex wouldn't have seen it. No telling what he saw of his little exchange with Negan last night but at least he didn't have to see that. This time Jesus doesn't hesitate, burns the photograph, washes the ashes down the sink. The guilt is still there but it's not doing anyone any good and Alex is right, they need him. Especially if this fucker was taking half their shit. Now, more than ever, he's determined to do his job, not give that man a single reason to retaliate for whatever imagined slight he thinks up next. When he does, and he will, because bullies will always resort to making shit up if they've got nothing else to fuel them, Jesus will keep these people safe, no matter what it takes. 

But as he's leaving his trailer, he stops with his hand on the doorknob, notices the nasty looking bruise on his wrist, then as he turns his hand, the tattoo there on his ring finger. Elliot...

It's always fucking *people*.

**************

It’s not like Aaron hadn’t been curious, and even would have been a good candidate to take the first trip with Rick and the rest of the group. Simply, it boiled down to he and Eric being physically and emotionally exhausted after the disaster and losses Alexandria had seen.

It wasn’t like they didn’t know the place had issues, it definitely did. And to a point, Rick had been right about some of its citizens. Some of them had somehow never even seen one of the shambling dead. At least not close, not face to face. They hadn’t had blood of any kind on their hands. They’d seen and heard about the horrors, but inside the safety and order of the walls, behind the glass of their windows as they drove into the Safe-Zone early on.

Eric reminds his husband of this, when he tells him everything about the part he played in the Wolves’ attack, about the inevitable trap he’d convinced Daryl to walk into, his carelessness in leaving the bag. “You were running for your fucking life, moments after *considering* sacrificing your life for our new friend, and meeting Morgan. Who, may I remind you, played a part in all of that too. You left your bag? You came back with your life. We all fought. We won. You have to move on from this or it’s going to eat you up.”

He doesn’t mention Reg, and Deanna, who’d been friends to both. Hell, Deanna had said more than once that she considered Aaron to be another son. She was a sharp woman, could read a lot in a person from a few conversations, knowing without him ever having to say how much it’d meant to him to hear that. His own mother had hurt and rejected him, and this person who wouldn’t even know him if not for the perfect circumstances amidst a disaster, thought the world of him. 

Aaron had agreed then, exhaled, letting out some of the stress and guilt, smiling. “With everything that’s happened, it’s hard to get back in the swing of things. But you know I’ll have to...and not because I feel like I owe it to anybody.” Eric nods, knowing his husband well. There’s little he can do to change his do-gooder nature. “Hey, it certainly sounds like Rick and Daryl managed to stumble their way into an exciting new mess I guess?”

They share a secret smile, remembering the sound of something softly thumping on their roof after they’d heard that the couple had brought home a ‘prisoner’. Peeking out of the curtains and hoping there wasn’t another giant disaster so soon, they’d seen a man leaping over rooftops, sneaking around. They’d decided not to intervene because they’d seen him walk in and out of the pantry and armory without taking anything before heading to Rick and Daryl’s house. 

Their combined experience in the old world and new told them this stranger had no intention of hurting them; from a few short conversations while Rick arranged a guard for this guy, and grabbing Daryl quickly, Aaron knew just enough to entertain the thought of mutual misunderstandings and mistakes- and the stranger’s actions seemed much more like someone who was looking for help or connections than a simple thief. So until the embarrassing moment when a meeting was called shortly after Daryl and Rick were caught sound asleep and buck-naked, Aaron and Eric only observed the...well, ‘ninja’ was good enough until they got to know him better.

***

Of course not everything had gone perfectly. The deal made for the very much needed supplies meant that Aaron, of course, volunteered to be a part of the strike on the Savior compound. 

Somehow this lead to one of the first conversations he had with Jesus, who’d overheard Eric harshly whispering to Aaron about the connection with Daryl’s run-in with those men and this plan, how he hoped but couldn’t believe that one outpost contained the majority of this nasty sounding group. He was concerned, they both knew better. Aaron was trying his best to soothe his husband’s concerns, reminding him the plan seemed solid and even if this was only a hard strike on these ‘Saviors’, it could weaken them enough to solve Hilltop’s problems and keep the bad guys from coming for them next. 

Jesus smiles at them, obviously trying to make Eric feel better but his eyes show his own worries about the Savior’s actual numbers. He’s seemingly more forthcoming with the two of them during the talk than he may have been so far with any other Alexandrian. “Unless the big guy is there himself, I can’t guarantee anything. As Rick is telling every volunteer, nobody *has to* fight or kill for this.”

“But we need each other.” Aaron finishes. “And these people...they’ve threatened us, and already done terrible things to yours?”

Jesus seems reluctant to get into detail, relate the horrific tale of the ‘example’ Negan had made on his first visit to Hilltop. “However unpleasant, it’s best to strike first in short.”

“You all won’t be heading out until later, and I doubt you’ve had much time to fuel up. Considering you’ve already made good on your end of this deal, could we at least talk you into coming over for a meal? Fuel up?” Eric asks. Charming as always it was easy for him to slip into comfortable conversation with a total stranger. Aaron arches an eyebrow. This will happen, whether or not their new trade partner has a dozen good reasons not to take some ‘me’ time or get closer to friends than acquaintances with his new trade partners.

“I have a feeling you won’t take no for an answer.” The statement is made with a light tone, though there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that this trickster can’t and won’t be ‘played’. The deal with Gregory had been made, and the ‘half’ had already been taken here. 

“I know what you might be thinking. But what advantage would this give Alexandria really? What game could I play? I swear this is mostly a friendly gesture, and just a pinch sucking up in case it comes to you having to watch my husband’s back.”

Jesus laughs. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

***

Jesus plays double duty after the strike on the Savior outpost doesn’t go exactly as planned. He doesn’t expect so much as a thank you from either side, and as usual Gregory proves him half right while he’s checking back in. The Hilltop leader is smug and already talking about their new trade partners owing the community something more, as if most of his judgements weren’t concealing a selfish disappointment at Maggie rejecting his original proposal. 

Never one to take the blame while still begging sympathy, Greg doesn’t permit a second of doubt regarding his people skills or how valuable the offer of his intimate physical companionship had ever been. It certainly hadn’t approved with age, and Jesus hopes the old prick hadn’t possessed a powerful enough position to get away with that bullshit in the old world. 

There’s no sense in trying to knock him down a few pegs by reminding the old creep that his head had been the price of the hostage’s return. The scavenger allows himself a small smile recalling the way Rick had chosen a proxy while Gregory complains. It’s not his job or his place to assume how much the old guy is suffering, or whether or not the deal had been fair to him. It had become more and more obvious that factoring in the whole group was too complicated an equation for their leader. 

He does make one point though, and that’s the fact that it’ll be hard to sever their association with Alexandria now. Instead of going out of his way to create distance after hearing Greg’s concerns, he decides to take the time he’d spend on a solo run returning to the strange place. 

It helped that while he was checking in, their nurse Alex was tasked with checking on Gregory’s injury. Things were awkward to say the least between them, made worse by a general understanding that their leader preferred to ignore relationships (however casual) like their own. 

As usual, Alex hardly seems to catch a hint and makes an attempt at small talk, even lingering when he’s finished declaring the old man well on his way to healing. 

“Already on the go?” Alex asks. It feels like he’s filling the doorway up, even though they can easily fit side by side. As tall and gorgeous as he is, the blond nurse’s presence is smothering Jesus. He doesn’t need the extra pressure, and he’s done all he can to explain that the last several years hasn’t been the best time to get into a serious relationship. He feels guilty, too, and maybe it’s unfair to wish Alex understood boundaries without having them explained. 

“Yeah, you get it, it never ends.” He rushes off to repack and head out despite the time. He may be traveling after dark but somehow that seems less dangerous than walking down the hall with someone who wanted a relationship. Jesus wasn’t sure he could ever do *that* again, nor could he explain to a person who probably deserved better why better wasn’t *here*.

***

Enough time passes as he easily finds himself back in Alexandria. He wonders when, or if, he’ll have a chance to explain why it had been so easy to find again. 

As if someone up there doesn’t like him, Daryl is on watch when he arrives. They’d parted on good enough terms so it shouldn’t be a surprise that there’s little hesitation before he’s welcomed back in. 

He is, however, a little surprised that no one leaves their post to alert Rick. From the conversation he’d overheard while ‘unconscious’, to the way their de-facto leader barely survived an introduction to Gregory let alone negotiations, Jesus had yet to figure the other man out. Still something about Daryl makes him feel a bit uneasy, and it’s not the dirty way he fights (nothing but respect there) or even concern that the archer realized why their fight had dragged on a bit. 

Who could blame him? 

The other scout rushing to catch up to them from down the street apparently agreed. At least, that was what he inferred the hour or two he’d already spent with the Raleighs. Aaron had tried to keep the conversation on track and professional, but his husband was an open book. That marked the second time Jesus had heard too much between partners. The Raleigh's clearly had been together longer and had worked through the same issues that Daryl and Rick were now just facing. He’d tried not to compare the couples, or get sucked in. Eric’s casual conversation and Aaron’s quiet devotion made that impossible. The way the former talked about Daryl and his family had erased some doubts he had about leadership around Alexandria too.

“Perfect timing, ah, I hope?” The scout asks, looking between his friend and their new trade partner. “Everything alright back home?”

“Detour on a run,” Jesus begins. “Thought we should compare notes, especially after the outpost.”

“Nobody walked away from that. Made sure.” Daryl interjects. 

The two are casually ushering him towards Aaron’s house while he assures them that they’re not in danger at the moment. It’s clear there’s something the two don’t want to advertise right away. 

Once they’re on the porch, Aaron looks around once more before speaking again. “The last couple of days have given us time to talk about what you said when you were here. It’s up to you, but from what little time we had to talk about your work outside we thought you might have unique insights…”

“Short version, they’ve been keepin’ track of where they scout, what shit they find.” Jesus nods. Interesting, and a good sign his instincts were better than he gives himself credit. Maybe he didn’t quite see this detour for what it was when he left Hilltop, but coming here was a good chance to share information. As rare an occurrence as it had been in the past, these people might have already talked him into traveling in a group. 

Maggie, the clever young woman he’d instantly liked had given him hope when she zeroed in on a specific detail during Jesus’ introduction. For a split second he wondered if he was getting slow when she interrupted him, asked about the other groups he’d alluded to already having deals with. Certainly most of the people who’d met him that first day had even less trust in the validity of his claims after the visit to Hilltop. Jesus wouldn’t blame them, and yeah, if the people he’d sworn to take care of were so desperate he wouldn’t hesitate to tell a few white lies. Just to lay the groundwork. 

These people were different than any community he had stumbled upon in the past. They didn’t realize how big the world was. Still it would take more than a few friendly gestures before he considered breaking his solemn promises to the good people out there. He had friends in one of those groups at least. 

Yet another had allowed him to leave with his life in exchange for a promise to protect their distant community; he’d wandered too far, hoping the military housing the maps promised combined with difficult terrain, had left an untouched cache of much needed firepower. What he’d found was a number of survivors determined to shut out the world after a great loss. No need to explain. 

Back in the present, Jesus lets himself relax as he listens, sat in front of a table covered in scraps of paper on top of several local maps. Lifting the corner of one map, he sees that the handwritten notes are different than another. Peaking at the three displayed it’s clear that there were teams, and that they’d explored their own areas for the most part. 

Call it instincts again, but he can’t help asking about the quarry and the road to it. He gets the quick and nasty version of that, how only a few important people had known about it, the decision to ignore it other than by blocking off the easiest road out when Heath had noticed a little self-sufficient group living there had expired. 

“Where’s Heath now?” Jesus remembers the man well enough, his own irritation not with the other’s reluctance to kill but the ignorance of whoever had put him in the position. 

“He and Tara had planned to leave this way.” Aaron points on the map, otherwise there’s no markings indicating anyone has gone that way that far. “It’s farther than most usually go, she thought it was worth it. Heath is great, and hasn’t ever lost anyone out there-”

“But you were worried about him after the outpost?”

“To be honest, it’s more that we realized he might not have had the same experiences as the rest of us.” Aaron doesn’t make eye contact. Maybe he felt guilty, or was just looking for confirmation. Or he was hoping to keep to himself how easy it had been for him. “We’ve dealt with bad people before, made hard choices. I doubt he was ever totally on the same page. Nothing wrong with that, or with him.”

“If he’s always so cautious I’m sure they’re both fine.” Jesus reads the room, waiting for the opportunity to lay out the few basic guidelines he operated by. If these people so much as offered a heartfelt speech in defense of their recruitment program this conversation had been a waste of everyone’s time.

“Not a single one of us doubted him, so there’s no sense in avoiding the fact that while we didn’t mean to check his work, some of the areas he’d crossed off might not be completely exhausted of-” Eric jumps into the conversation as if he’d been listening in from the start, a seemingly impossible feat since he’d just walked in the door.

“Good shit.” Daryl finishes, showing Jesus the brief report on the area Heath had written. A small city block, no challenge. Not exactly what he’d planned but they’ve still got his attention.

“Glenn wants to go. Seems like Maggie sort of wants him to.”

“He’s got a good eye. Seen him handle bigger areas by himself. Might be good for him too.” This was more conversation than he expected from Daryl, who doesn’t hesitate to include him. 

“You guys kind of ambushed me here, but Gregory doesn’t exactly want anybody wandering around right now. So the plans I had for a pretty big haul were pretty much crushed. I meant what I said before, I usually go out alone, but I would’ve needed at least one more. This doesn’t sound like a bad plan. If you’re right and a bunch of shit has been missed, we obviously get half of it.”

Apparently Heath and his team had guidelines of their own. First and foremost, if it presented an equal risk to potential gain, they just didn’t go in. For example, the closely packed buildings of the city being discussed could be completely untouched on the ground levels. If the area was too dense, if there weren’t enough routes to safely bail, their feet never touched the street. In addition, if a rooftop couldn’t be accessed by stepping off of the last, if a fire escape didn’t take them to the next level, they didn’t investigate. 

The strict, but smart, rules accounted for the early days when he’d spotted a community thriving without their interference inside or around the quarry and left them alone. For all they knew these people had known each other since the beginning, maybe even before. 

A shift in power, a bunch of strangers, and the strangely untouched suburban streets didn’t appeal to everyone. “Not everyone wants Jesus, and most people don’t want a stranger interrupting dinner with a handful of pamphlets to ask if you’re already cozy with Christ.” A really specific example maybe, but funny as hell and totally on point. Judging by the capital “J” and “C”, whoever had made the note (quoting Heath but obviously written with another hand) might even be a believer. It was still fucking funny. 

With respect to the man’s self preservation instincts and consideration for his crew/friends, Jesus (the post apocalyptic scavenger) laughs when he might’ve otherwise hid his face in second hand embarrassment. It wasn’t his place to judge but he never backed down from a challenge. No one ever had to follow his arguably poor example either. 

Eric laughs aloud, reorganizing the papers. He unfolds another map, combining the areas searched by three groups into one. His notes are brief and to the point, totally opposite what you’d expect after having one conversation with the redhead. “There, that was way more complicated than it had to be.” As he carries on to explain that his last job had been over-seeing nonprofits, Jesus remarks that he’s not surprised, and he’s sure that’s still useful. “It’s how we met. We were the perfect team then. Our best work together was done building Alexandria’s walls, recruiting. Then we both made a bad habit out of getting so distracted worrying about each other we made some almost fatally stupid moves…” Aaron obviously has more to say on the matter but he stares intently at his feet even while reaching for his husband’s hand. 

Jesus tries to salvage the conversation, guessing that the other Mr. Raleigh must’ve been a politician. There’s a collective eyeroll, Aaron included. The emotionally tense moment is diffused, though the couple’s hands remain clasped tightly until Daryl draws attention to it by walking through their outstretched arms. Jesus notes that the tracker could’ve taken half a clear path and half the steps to reach the fresh pot of coffee. 

He might owe the guy one for rescuing him from an afternoon of trying not to remember how wonderful it felt to be right where the pair were now, how no one knew what empty felt like until they lost what these men had. He couldn’t even resent it, hated that he felt like protecting it but the possibility of watching even an acquaintance suffer like he had was sickening. 

Daryl gets quiet until Jesus adds that he must’ve been one of those poor guys that suffered playing nature guide for overpaid businessmen wanting to snag a bear on a company retreat. He smirks, loosens up a bit and responds that he actually used to find bodies for the state police in the mountains, mostly. “Didn’t pay any less, plus they always owed me a favor.”

“You and Rick are from the same area.”

“Didn’t know him before.” Jesus doesn’t seem surprised by this. He’s as good or better at reading people compared to Aaron. About the same at making first impressions, in different ways. Daryl again has the sinking feeling that there’s something he’s missing about that, just as Rick had misread Aaron’s dodgy answers in regard to back-up. “He didn’t know me either. Somehow.” 

“Hmm. The world felt smaller in the beginning. Although your family proves that there’s so much undiscovered potential.” Even if they hadn’t told him, it was obvious the married couple had met and were a well established couple before the ‘apocalypse’. Wedding rings, lots of personal items around the house. Hell he didn’t even need that. 

Suddenly a few puzzle pieces come together, subtle cues and hints as to where he and Rick had gone wrong with Jesus. The guy had known he’d find them together, alone, and was eager to introduce them to a huge group of strangers in need after an intensely personal conversation on the drive about whether or not saving people was a worthwhile effort. Rick had been wrong, and knew it. Daryl had given in recently. Jesus offered a bigger world and a deal with his people, as much in need as their own. That little shit hadn’t missed a moment on the drive back home. 

“Shit…” The tracker blushed, tried to shake it off. Aaron was immediately on high alert, Eric was strangely at ease but vaguely sympathetic. They looked almost like parents, divided on the way to raise a child. Except Aaron was more than slightly attracted to Daryl, physically anyway. Eric was a rare protective but honest influence, seeing how life could teach his baby lessons and stepping out of the way when it was truly important. 

Jesus tries for a neutral expression. His will is softened as his attention turns again to how adorable and strangely perfect the Raleigh's’ relationship is. It should sting, he wants it to. He and Elliot were never this cute. They were perfect together, he knew that, but outwardly must’ve have looked like a complete disaster (when and if anyone got a good look). This pair was so sweet the fitness obsessed former gym owner wanted to run the other way. His broken heart should’ve agreed, but it selflessly wanted to protect this. 

“Look, if a guy is unconscious that long it’s a miracle he’d ever wake up. Hell, a few minutes and you’re talking serious damage. Seeing you flash your weapons, and use them, I...saw an opportunity.”

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Rick should’ve known too,” Aaron tries to stick up for his best friend and scouting partner. Daryl stops him. 

“From what I’ve heard you both had been under a lot of stress…” Jesus offers a way out, still trying to understand these people and wanting to know who he’d be trusting with his safety out there. 

“Nuh-uh, no excuses. Shoulda seen it for what it was sooner. Sorry I was a dick.” Daryl spits into his hand, holding it out for a handshake. “Start over?” 

“It’s better to be underestimated sometimes. Of course we can.” Jesus closes a fist, holding it out. Daryl mirrors the gesture, trying not to think of his teenager. On second thought, Carl wasn’t this subtle, not ever. Couldn’t tell a lie to save his life. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> In no way would I ever suggest that anyone should feel like they are to blame when something horrible happens to them


End file.
